Sequence of Nucleotides
by qkumber
Summary: She hates to admit it, but his genes are dominant.


Sequence of Nucleotides

Peering closely in front of the highchair, her hair cascaded and tickled the sensitive cheeks of the small boy occupying it. She instantly beamed down at her son and hummed enthusiastically. Her pointer finger flicked the child's hair out of his matching blue marbles.

"I knew it. You have your father's nose." She poked the bridge of it and pulled away from him briefly to find the cup of baby food. She grabbed the spoon and began feeding him in-between small intervals so he could swallow.

Bulma had been comparing Trunks' features between herself and her partner for the past year-and-a-half and still couldn't decide whose visage he related most to. So far, all she could come up with was that he acquired his blue eyes from her ―albeit Trunks' scowl made it impossible to agree fully to the notion that he had Bulma's eyes. The shape was undeniably Vegeta's.

She had been disheartened to ―at that moment ―admit that Trunks had undoubtedly obtained his muzzle from the former prince. She desperately wanted to win this bout of dominant entitlement.

The younger prince's food spilt out of his mouth, along with dribble and a wail of disagreement. "Oh, Trunks! Please don't be that way with me!" She pulled his bib and wiped his pouty lips off that had spittle dripping from his fatty chin. "You have to eat your squash, baby. I know you don't like your potatoes, but you have to eat this for me." Presenting him with an engaging look of encouragement, she proceeded to feed him scoopfuls of the squash and he seemed to understand the pleasing in her voice. He eagerly swallowed and opened his mouth for more.

"You're such a hungry saiyan, good boy." She cooed at him while wiping his cheek to rid of access food. He giggled delightfully at being praised; he rarely did anything good for her anyways, being the troublemaker he was. Resting the spoon on his tray, she hopped off her stool and rain to the stove, which was burning and emitting smoke, that when inhaled, could make a person hurl. Bulma waved a porcelain hand aft her face to rid of the fumes to breath, and carefully extracted the burnt apple pie from the charred oven.

The abominable smell wafted its way towards Trunks, and he began gagging. Blue tresses of limp curls swung around and stuck to her face as she looked over at her son in horrification. Quickly turning on the stove fan to high, and shoving the pie onto the counter she jolted from her position and cried, "Oh no! Trunks―" It was too late. He started to wail.

She frantically scooped him up in her thin arms and hulled him under her bust and bolted from the kitchen. Once they were safe from the offensive, rancid odor she sighed with relief when her little boy halted in his sobbing. He was overly-sensitive to anything; be it smells, tastes, sights, and sounds. Just like his father.

Speaking of which, was when she heard a bark come from the entrance hallway. "What's that putrid smell?" His masculine tone made her shiver, and she wasn't quite sure if it was because of his voice that made her shiver, or the fact that it was mid-winter and she was wearing boxer shorts. She held Trunks tighter as he approached.

"I was making this pie, and―" She stopped and realized too late that she didn't need to waste her time with the likes of him anyway, not when she needed to make sure that her baby was all right. "What's it to you? I haven't seen you in a few weeks; I don't need to explain myself to you." She pouted and turned her nose up, stalking away in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for her, he decided to follow.

"That doesn't apply to me. I asked you a question and you shall answer it." His tone didn't deter from its smugness. Abruptly, she swiveled his way, almost making him unintentionally run into her. Trunks glanced up at Vegeta.

"Like I care what you want." She seemed to contemplate if she should answer him or not. Risking it, she decided to anyway. Bulma wanted to get along, not burn bridges. They were in too deep already. Groaning, she explained, "Trunks was hungry earlier and I wanted to make something for myself, too. I was making this pie for Trunks and I, and― well you know how bad I am at cooking and everything― didn't keep track of the time so I heard the stove ring but I didn't catch it in time and it heated up and burnt our pie! I am so pissed." She shook her head and peeked down at Trunks who was staring at her mouth as she babbled. Everything piled out of her mouth too fast and sailed over Vegeta's head after she had said, "Pie," and was determined to ignore her.

Bulma began to notice that he was watching her face too intently when she spoke. And he was smirking, the jerk. Her face morphed into rage-filled anguish― how dare he make fun of her ―until she focused her attention on something entirely different. Her hand out-stretched and he flinched, taking a step back to deter him from contact. It was on instinct, and Bulma wasn't expecting it.

"Hey, don't worry. Just lemme see…" Her hand reached out and he almost recoiled again but didn't when she ran her index and pointer finger down the bridge of his nose. Trunks started to giggle up at his father, and reached his tiny fists to try and touch his face. Her fingers felt soothing. It was essentially intimate, to him at least, but it made him feel uncomfortable. Their eyes were reflecting the other, and the couple seemed to relax in each other's gazes after what felt like hours of just staring. Finally, she spoke and it was soft.

"I knew it." Grinning lightly, she turned and started to trot away leaving the man to stand and balk at the insinuated gesture of intimacy. _And it hasn't even been…Has it?_

"What was that you just―!?"

"I knew he had your nose!"


End file.
